The Darker Side of Me
by Aima D. Duragon
Summary: Takes place immediately after episode 5.18.  Castiel is captured by an angel seeking revenge, and by the time Dean finds him, Castiel just isn't the same. Dean/Cas
1. Captured in the Dark

**Title**: The Darker Side of Me

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: PG-13 for violence

**Spoilers**: up to episode 5.18

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the CW

**A/N**: So this story is going to kind of an alternate universe that takes place immediately after episodes 5.18 (The Point of No Return) which was like my favorite episode ever! So anyway, I wanted to expand on it and the story just kind of came to life in my mind. The beginning was a bit choppy and rushed cuz I've been so busy with school and stuff but I hope you enjoy!

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Castiel was jolted back into consciousness by a splash of searing cold water. He sputtered and coughed, his lungs burning like dry ice. The angel blinked through the white spots of disorientation that danced across his vision, trying to remember what happened.

"So that was enough to wake you, hm?" a dark voice hissed, "Good."

Castiel's heart leapt into his throat, and all of a sudden reality crashed in around him. He was standing, his back pressed against a hard surface and both his hands were tied above him with some kind of wire that bit harshly into his skin. His body was stretched taught, and the angel grimaced as his slight movement of surprise caused his aching shoulders to sing with pain. But moreover there was a heaviness in his limbs that hadn't been there before, like weights were pressing down on him. It wasn't hard to discern that he wasn't in the best of positions.

"Who is there?" Castiel asked, trying to sound demanding, though there was no denying the soft tremor that escaped over his lips.

A shadowed figure skirted along the edges of Castiel's still muddied vision, but no answer came. Ignoring the strange tingling of nerves that danced across the back of his neck, Castiel furrowed his brow and thought. The first thing was to figure out where he was. Everything was dark, which meant they had to be inside somewhere. The only source of light came from a couple old flickering lamps in the distance, but that didn't show him much. All he could tell was that the place looked old. The smell of rusting metal hung heavily in the air, along with another scent that was faint but hauntingly familiar.

"Oh…we've never met before."

Castiel racked his brain, attempting to keep his calm. So how did he get here? The last thing he remembered was…California. The memory sent a surge of fresh adrenaline pumping though the angel's veins. He pulled against his bindings, suddenly uncaring of the fact that his arms screamed in disagreement.

"I've heard many things about you though, Castiel," the voice snickered, moving once more, like a wave of shadow in an ocean of darkness.

The angels—one must've caught him before he'd completed the spell.

"I heard about your betrayal."

Castiel knew what the scent was now. He was familiar enough with angel blades to know when one was near. The sharp metallic smell slithered through him, making his skin prickle all over, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The figure took a purposeful step forward so that his silhouette was just barely visible in the flickering lamp-light, "I've heard all about the things you've done, in the name of Dean Winchester." The angel stepped forward, light flashing across his features like lighting in a thunderstorm, "There are a lot of people looking for you, Castiel. How lucky I am to have found you before they did."

"Who are you?" Castiel locked eyes with the other angel for the first time, and found himself lost in a sea of black.

The other angel moved closer once more, coming fully into the light. He was a tall specimen, towering almost a head above Castiel, and his face was hard-cut and sharp, which his livid expression only served to enhance. And his eyes—the color of ice glittering in the moonlight—bored into Castiel with a fury that made his stomach burn.

"You've killed a lot of angels, brother," his thin lips curled down into a snarl. In a flashing moment an angel blade was pressed against Castiel's neck, and he couldn't help but shiver from the stinging cold of the metal against his bare skin.

"Zachariah is dead."

Castiel stiffened as the blade sliced through the top layers of his bared throat.

"My twin is _dead_," warm blood slithered down Castiel's throat, "So, fallen, you will have to forgive me if I'm not in the best of moods."

Castiel stifled any reaction to the pain. "I am sorry for the loss of your brother." And he was. He found no joy in killing—they were his brothers too…once. Sure he told himself that he could justify it, yet still…it tore him apart, piece by piece falling with every crimson drop. He wasn't the angel he used to be. He was something entirely different now.

"As for Zachariah, I am not the one who killed him."

"No," the dark angel hissed, his stare glacial, "that blame goes to the worthless soul you saved."

_Dean_. Castiel didn't dare blink. Did that mean the plan had worked? Had they made it out? Impossible. He'd seen it—that undeniable look of defeat in Dean's eyes; the look of someone who had nothing left to live for.

The angel seemed to read the question in Castiel's eyes. His snarl suddenly lifted into a feral smile.

"Did you think that Michael had taken him?" the angel sneered, "Even I knew that Dean Winchester would never say yes to us—not unless we had Sam. I told Zachariah so. But he thought the little half-blood would be enough. And what did that get him? A stake through the throat, and Michael stuck in an outfit that doesn't quite fit. Everyone's in an uproar about it…but I suppose you wouldn't be able to hear that. Not anymore."

With smooth calculating grace, the angel trailed the dagger down Castiel's neck, dipping the tip into his collarbone and enjoying the startled hiss of pain it caused. But Castiel could feel more than just the pain. He could feel the pure untethered white-hot energy encased in the metal; he could feel it jumping out and snapping at him like sparks of electricity, hungry to pierce his flesh.

Yet strangely all he could think about was Dean, and the last few words they had exchanged just outside the warehouse. _…But then I won't have to watch you fail. Sorry Dean, I don't have the same faith in you that Sam does_. The thought made him cringe. Fallen he was indeed.

"That was quite a clever idea by the way," the blade moved lower, skimming over the surface of Castiel's freshly cut skin, "banishing us with a sigil like that. Tell me, did you carve it in yourself, or is it the work of one of the Winchester boys?"

Castiel didn't answer.

The angel's eyes glittered as he ran the sharp point along the exposed raw flesh, just hard enough to draw a light stream of blood. Castiel forced his expression blank as he felt his muscles twinge in pain.

"My brother was very good at drawing sigils," the angel stepped in closer so that now Castiel was able to feel the heat of his breath pool against his face, "He had a steady hand you know." The blade suddenly pressed in, breaking easily through muscle and flesh and sending sharp bites of energy coursing through his blood. The world flashed white for a lingering moment.

The angel ripped the dagger out, leaving Castiel breathless and gasping.

"I think you may find that I did not inherit all the same traits as him."

The blade plunged in once more, slicing deeply along the grooves of the sigil. It was all Castiel could do to hold back the scream that begged in his throat.

The dark angel hissed, "You're going to pay for the things you've done, Castiel. As my father's child, I will bring justice where it's due." His smile was just a fraction too manic.

Castiel just looked at him wearily, "Killing me will not bring your brother back."

"No…but that's hardly the point."

So it was meant to be torture then. Strangely, the knowledge didn't phase him. What was the point? He had already accepted his fate before entering the warehouse. He had known that he probably would not come out alive. In fact, a part of him had longed for it—to be free of this new world that was so different from his own. Everything he had once loved about it seemed to have crumbled away beneath him. Yet even still he had clung to something—poured everything he was and everything he had into it.

And that moment he found Dean on the street, so broken…so ready to give in to everything they had fought so hard to stop, something in him had just snapped. Dean had been the one thing left in the world for him. The moment Dean broke, was the moment he broke too.

He had given _everything_.

When he had flown down into the depths of Hell, it wasn't just because he'd been ordered to, or just because he wanted to stop the first seal from being broken—sure those things had been part of it, but never the core reason. He had gone, because he thought that there was finally someone who could set things straight, who could go against everything and bring the world into light. That thought was what drove him forward when all the rest turned back or fell behind. They couldn't take the dark. They couldn't take the ice. But he could. For Dean, he could. And from the moment they'd touched, Castiel had known there was something in him that had tethered itself to Dean's soul. That one moment…had changed everything. He had denied it at first, but deep down he had always known.

He had never touched a human soul before, and maybe he just hadn't been prepared for he light that had touched him, or maybe he had just seen something there in Dean's soul that made him burn in a way he had never experienced before. He hadn't meant to mark Dean with it. The heat had just been too much to contain. He didn't remember feeling the cold from the ice after that.

He had no choice but to follow Dean in the end. But he never thought…he never thought—

A light electronic chiming broke through his thoughts, and for a horrifying moment Castiel didn't know what happening. And in an even more horrifying moment, he figured it out. His cell phone was ringing—and there were only two people who ever called him.

The angel's hold on his blade faltered as his eyes flickered down, gleaming with a dark curiosity. Castiel's heart hammered in his chest as he watched the angel reach into his coat pocket. He gave a helpless tug against his bindings as he saw the angel's expression flash with delight.

He flipped open the phone, his thin lips curling with a sickening sort of satisfaction, "Hello, Dean."

Castiel's stomach lurched. "Dean, don't—" he was silenced by a wave of the angel's hand.

"Did you hear that, Dean? Castiel sends his regards."

Castiel leaned forward as far as his shoulders would allow, straining to hear and vainly trying to summon enough energy to lift off his affliction of silence. But it was hopeless. The angel had stepped back into the darkness and all Castiel could hear was the scratching sound of his voice echoing around the room.

"Now, Dean," the angel chided, "it is impermissible to use our Lord's name in vain."

There was a pause.

"Well if you ask nicely I'll tell you where we are."

Another pause, followed by a deep throaty chuckle.

"Come now, Dean, you can do better than that. You didn't even say please." The angel snorted, "Kill me will you? I'm sure you'll try."

The next pause was longer than the rest, and for a moment Castiel wondered if the other angel had left—that perhaps Dean had baited him somehow.

But the angel's cold chilling response broke whatever hope Castiel might've had, and more. "Too bad it will be Castiel that feels the sting for those words and not you. You want him back so badly? You won't even know him by the time I'm through. He'll be so broken you'll wish you'd never come. And no matter how fast you drive, it won't be fast enough. He _will_ pay for what you did, and you will too."

The silence pressed in, hard and blank.

"You'll find what's left of him in a warehouse on the west end of 52nd street, Brooklyn New York."

Castiel heard the phone snap shut and fall to the ground with a soft thud. The light still flickered faintly in the distance, but strangely the light only seemed to intensify the surrounding dark. Shadows stretched across the room, grasping with claws of shade over a black so complete it seemed to swallow everything in sight. Maybe that was why his breath hitched when the angel suddenly appeared before him, the blade flashing in his hand.

"Quite an interesting charge you have, Castiel." The angel quirked a brow, "Do you enjoy that sharp tongue of his?"

Castiel grimaced, silence still keeping his lips.

"Show me your wings, Castiel." The room sank into a sudden chill.

With a sharp breath, Castiel reined his grace in a little deeper. The angel wanted to see his wings? Angels never exposed their wings tangibly. _Never_. There was no good that could come of it.

The angel looked almost amused as he pressed his blade against Castiel's chest once more. "Show me," his voice was somehow more frightening when it was soft, "Or should I wait until Dean gets here to have my fun?"

The words were sharper than the metal point piercing his skin. _Dean_. Castiel felt suddenly and violently sick as his heart stuttered and quickened. Without even so much as a full thought crossing his mind Castiel unfurled his grace and spread out his wings ever so slightly. And with a feeble shake they appeared, stark and white, feathers trembling though the air hung still. He let out a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Never in his life had he felt so utterly and completely exposed. It was like he was inside-out somehow, and all the things he'd buried so deep couldn't stay down anymore.

Narrowed eyes widened as the angel gazed at Castiel's wings. He'd probably never seen a pair before. Castiel certainly hadn't. Not even his own. And he wasn't going to look now. He couldn't. Because if he looked, that would mean this was real, and it would mean there was nothing that could save him.

But that didn't matter. Dean hadn't given in to Michael—he hadn't given up. And as long as that fact held true, then Castiel wouldn't give up either, no matter the cost. What was he compared to the world? Compared to Dean? The only purpose he felt now was to protect his charge. In fact, it was the only purpose he remembered ever feeling. Perhaps…it was because he'd never known what it was like to feel before Dean.

He'd told the hunter in the alley that he'd given up everything, and indeed he had. The life he'd once known was lost forever in a fading memory. But Dean knew…he had to know that what he'd gained was so much more.

So, if it came to it, if this was his end, then so be it. He had no regrets. Barely a year on earth had given him what a millennia in Heaven had never even brushed. Compassion…empathy…love. It had given him _love_, or closest he'd ever come to it. If he had more time, maybe he could've known it better.

Castiel almost smiled. He would've liked that.

A silken fingertip running along his jaw pulled him from his thoughts and back into the shadowed world. He clenched his jaw, refusing to shy away from the mocking caress.

"So much, over a human," the angel breathed, his voice like a ghost on the wind. His hand trailed down Castiel's neck dipping into the slope and gliding along the rise of his shoulder. Ever so gently, his long fingers moved over the exposed white feathers, and Castiel shivered as he felt that touch run through him like an icy current.

Then, in a blink, the angel's features changed. His fingers wound themselves around a fist full of feathers and clenched unforgivingly. Castiel gasped as white-hot pain burned through him. His vision swam and he felt a wave of bile surge up his throat as his stomach turned in on itself.

"Well…we'll see if you still think he was worth it when he gets here. That should be what, three days from now? That's more than enough time to have some fun. Aren't you glad that we never sleep? Or at least…I don't."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Poor baby Cas :( I'm so mean to him. I hate to think of how Sam and Dean will find him...if they find him (gasp!). And I know some people don't like OC's (I'm actually one of them) but no worries he won't be interfering tooooooo much...he's mostly a plot device really X3

**Please Review!** They mean so much to me...really! :)


	2. Blood and Nails

**Title**: The Darker Side of Me

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: PG-13 for violence

**Spoilers**: up to episode 5.18

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the CW

**A/N**: So this story is going to kind of an alternate universe that takes place immediately after episodes 5.18 (The Point of No Return) which was like my favorite episode ever! So anyway, I wanted to expand on it and the story just kind of came to life in my mind.

So as for this chapter...be prepared for the emo...

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"Dean," his younger brother said in a gentle whisper as he leaned towards him, "you have to calm down."

Dean whipped his glare over to Sam, beyond ready to lash out his restless anger. "_Calm down_?" he hissed between clenched teeth, "I'm sorry but did you hear anything I said about that son of a bitch that has Cas? How can you expect me to—"

"Shh!" Sam grabbed Dean's arm tightly, glancing around apologetically at the people sitting around them, pretending to read. Dean knew they were watching, but he didn't care. What did it matter if they heard, while Cas was out there—he couldn't even sit still. At least when he was driving he had the road to distract him—he had something mindless to concentrate on. But here, on this plane, there was nothing. He was stuck, sitting in suspended time with nothing but thoughts of Castiel screaming inside his head to accompany him.

Sam had been right, taking a plane was faster, but even so, for Dean it was torture. Never mind his fear of flights. It was so much beyond that now. He just felt so useless, sitting here…waiting…while God knew what was happening to Cas.

_Cas._

Dean looked away as another nauseating wave of fear rushed through him, quelling his anger. That voice—demon or angel he didn't know…but then again it hardly mattered—it haunted him like a cold chill down his spine. He sounded nothing like Alistair, and yet Dean couldn't throw down the image of the demon standing over Castiel, knife raised and a dark glint of terrifying pleasure in his eyes.

Memories of Hell flickered in the back of his mind like a movie reel. Things he'd finally started to forget rushed back to him clear as a picture before his eyes, and he couldn't shut himself against it. Blood…there had been so much blood. But now it was Castiel's; dark and crimson and sickeningly warm.

"Dean," Sam's grip on his arm tightened and pulled him back to the plane, "we'll find him."

The hunter shook his head, unable to move his stare from the seat in front of him. He could feel the familiar hard pressure building up just behind his eyes that he couldn't quite push away. Everything was falling apart. Michael had Adam, Cas was with some maniac halfway across the damn world, and Sam…well…he didn't know how much longer he'd have Sam. If he lost them all…

"Dean?"

Something made him look at Sam then. He needed to see the strength he knew those grey eyes would offer. But as he turned to meet his brother's gaze, all he saw was a reflection of his own dread.

Dean couldn't quite fill his lungs as he breathed, "Sammy…we shouldn't have let him go in by himself. You saw him…he didn't want to come out. I saw it in his face."

"Cas knew what he was doing. He had to go in alone, there was no other way."

"But what if—"

"We'll find him, Dean."

Dean nodded and looked away again, his jaw tight, and the pressure behind his eyes heavier than ever. He could feel Sam's hand still tight on his arm, and hear his deep voice rumbling softly in his ear, but all he could think about was the weight of that box knife in his hand, and the feeling of carving into Cas' skin. And in his mind's eye it wasn't Alistair who was standing over Castiel anymore…it was him.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"Cas!"

He was hearing it again; the sound of Dean calling his name. It was louder this time, close and tauntingly real. But he knew it wasn't real. He was alone in the dark.

"Cas, dammit," rough hands gripped his shoulders, "wake up!"

Castiel gasped weakly as the pain drew him up from his murky recess. He pulled against it, knowing what would be waiting for him on the surface and knowing he couldn't be there anymore. The dark was safe. It couldn't feel him and he couldn't feel it—pure nothingness, void of everything that had betrayed him.

"Cas, come on, you have to wake up!"

His world shook and tendrils of sharp electric agony shot through his muscles. _No_. He pulled back harder. Why would Dean call him back? Couldn't he see? Didn't he know?

But it didn't matter. It _wasn't_ real. It was just a trick…same as all the others.

"Dean…oh my God, Dean."

He knew that voice too. That was Sam. He hadn't heard Sam in the dark before. Why would Sam be here?

"Sam," Dean's voice was hoarse and strained with some emotion the angel couldn't quite name, "you have to find something to get the nails out."

"Dean—Dean I don't know if he's—"

"Do it now, Sam!"

The tremor in Dean's voice echoed in Castiel's chest, and all of a sudden everything was shaking again. Even though he'd heard that voice more times than he could remember, it sounded different now. It was as if he could feel beyond the voice, and Dean's very presence lingered just outside the fog of his imprisonment—the place he'd left behind.

"Cas? Cas, I know you can hear me. You have to wake up. Me and Sam are going to get you out of here alright? But you gotta…God dammit, Cas," his words cut off and an impossible warmth covered Castiel's face, like the lingering heat of a fire.

For a moment the angel almost lost hold—for a moment he thought it was real.

"Cas I know you're still in there. Don't ask me how, but I know. Now wake up!" The warmth pressed in, "You can't just run out on me, not now! Wake up!"

Something inside him was screaming now, screaming for him to listen to the voice that called him so. But no…he couldn't…there was nothing there for him now. How many times had he heard Dean calling his name? How many hours had he spent waiting, knowing what would never come? Yet even still…

"Wake up, Cas!"

Castiel opened his eyes, and it was like being plunged into a sea of ice.

"Cas!"

The heat was coming from the two calloused hands cupping his face. His vision swam before him like a hazed dream, but no dream, however vivid, could ever get those eyes right. They stared at him now, wide and frantic—the color of a forest in early autumn; all greens and browns flecked with gold. The angel knew those eyes like he knew nothing else.

"Dean?" His voice broke in his throat as the newly familiar tang of blood coated his tongue and spilled over his lips.

"I'm here, Cas. Look at me."

But Castiel couldn't look anywhere else. Dean couldn't be here. He _couldn't_.

"We're going to get you out of here, but you've got to stay with me alright?"

"Dean…" Castiel's voice sounded distant in his ears, like everything happening was so much beyond him that he was detached from it somehow.

Sam's large silhouette suddenly appeared at the corner of his vision. "This was all I could find." He held up something long and metal.

"That's fine Sammy, just…" Dean didn't finish.

"Where should I start?"

"His hands. Get the things out of his hands."

Their words moved through him. The darkness was still close at his back, all the while calling him with sweet whispers of an unnamed promise.

"Is he awake?"

Dean's fingers twitched on his cheeks, "Yeah, but we have to do this fast. He needs a hospital."

"Dean," Sam knelt down next to his brother, still holding the bar, "…his wings."

Dean's scowl was prevalent in his tone, "Yeah, I know. Just hurry."

"I didn't think they could show them."

Castiel felt the cold metal press firmly against his palm.

"I didn't either…not like this."

Pain like a lance scorched through him, rippling out from his hand in a violent tremor that ended in a scream. Black danced across his vision as he felt another wave of blood surge up his throat.

Dean's hands were still hard on his face, "Cas! Cas look at me!"

Castiel did, but only because it was Dean telling him to do it. His reality lived in the pain now, rooted so deeply there was nothing but ice on his skin and a searing flame in his blood. But if Dean asked him to look at him, then he would. If he asked him to go to Hell for his sake, then he would…and he had.

He was there now.

"Tell me the Lord's prayer."

Another blinding shot of pain, and Castiel's head fell against Dean's as he struggled to pull air into his lungs. The angel shook his head, pressing his eyes shut as he felt the metal—now warm and slick with his blood—hard against his skin.

"Cas don't you dare close your eyes!"

"Dean, I think his wings—"

"Just keep going, Sam." Dean shook Cas' head gently, "Cas, you have to stay with me, you hear? I'm not letting you off this easy."

His body was heavy like frozen lead, and his breath came shallow and quick. Something was pressing in on him from every angle—teeth sinking in and ripping through more than just flesh and blood. It was tearing through the very fibers of his being, scorching him from the inside out. There was no part of him that wasn't alive with agonizing pain, acute and excruciatingly exact.

"Cas look at me!"

The angel forced his eyes open once more, only this time he couldn't see Dean's eyes. He couldn't see anything, just blurs of color and shade.

Dean shook him again, harder this time. "Tell it to me Cas!"

"…I can't," the angel breathed, croaking as more blood spilled hotly over his lips, "…Dean."

"Why? Why can't you?"

The world was spinning, and he could no longer feel the soothing heat of Dean's hands on his face. His head was pounding and he could hear the violent pumping of blood hammering in his hears. There was nothing left of him now—nothing that wasn't stripped to the raw wire of nerves and feeling; where everything was suffering and nothing else existed.

The dark was closing in again. He felt his body sag limply into Dean's arms.

Sam's voice sounded like distant thunder, "Dean, what about his wings?"

Castiel felt Dean shift beneath him, "You don't think you can get them out?"

"They're so broken, I just—"

"We have to get him out of here Sam. God knows when the son of a bitch who did this to him will show back up, and if he does we're up a shit creek without a paddle."

There was a long pause.

"…I saw an axe in the back. Maybe—"

"Sam, no."

"We're running out of options, Dean! And we don't know how much time we have!"

"Sam think about what you're saying! We don't know what that'll do to him! He could—"

"Die? Dean, he's dying right now, and if we don't rip all those nails out, I don't think that—"

"So we just hack his wings off? No, Sam, I'm not going to let him die like that!"

"So you're going to let him die _here_?"

"There has to be another way!"

"Then tell it to me!" Sam roared, and the angel could hear his ragged breaths like an angry wind, "Dean look around! We have nothing! We're in the middle of nowhere and the longer we sit here arguing about this the better the chance that guy _will_ come back and have a hack at us all!"

There was another prolonged pause, filled only with the unsteady pounding of Dean's racing heart.

"Is there a sharpener?"

The gravel shifted and crunched beneath Sam's feet, "I can check."

"Fine. Go."

Castiel heard the sound of retreating footsteps as he felt strong arms lift him gingerly.

"…Dean." He spoke the name without knowing his lips moved—he didn't even have to think about it, his tongue just knew the word. It was the one thing he knew how to say when he couldn't say anything else.

"I shouldn't have let you go alone in there. I shouldn't have carved that damn thing in your chest. I shouldn't have—" Dean broke off abruptly, choking on his own voice. The hunter took a deep ragged breath, "I'm going to get you out of here, and then I'm going to find the son of a bitch who did this to you and so help me, angel or demon, I'm going to kill him. You're going to be okay, Cas. I'm going to get you out of here. You're going to be okay…"

Dean was still talking but the angel couldn't make out the words anymore, only the soft rumbling that resounded in his chest. It sounded nice—like purring. He could feel the pain slipping from him once more as he sank deeper into shadow. His body felt numb and light again, and so far away from the arms that held him tight.

"Cas…"

But that voice kept him still, hovering just over the edge of tangible peace. He didn't know why it held him, but there he was, pulling against a taught string that refused to break.

Footsteps approached.

"I got it."

Was there a sharpener?"

"I looked, but…"

The angel heard Dean's heart skip.

"Sam…"

"…Put your belt in his mouth so he doesn't bite through his tongue."

"Sam…I can't…"

"…Dean."

The next thing the angel knew, a thick strap of leather was pressed firmly into his mouth. He could feel Dean holding him tight and whispering wordlessly in his ear. He didn't understand why, but it didn't matter, not with the dark pressing in. He wondered vaguely where angels went when they died. He'd never bothered to ask before—he never thought he would need to know. Angels weren't human, they didn't have hearts or souls, and paradise in Heaven was not made for them. He wondered if he would simply fade into nothing. Nothing didn't seem all that bad. Nothing was better than ice—and eyes that saw too much, and lips that spoke words that were too true. Dean didn't know, and he never would. At least he would die with that one blessing.

"Sam! Do it now!"

The last thing Castiel remembered was the whirl of whistling wind and the sound of his own scream echoing in the dark abyss.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

DEPRESSIOOOOOOOOOON! So I'm sorry I haven't updated in forever :( I've been busy writing Obsessions, writing my own original story, and trying to get all my sh*t together for school and work. But I'm trying my bestest to dive back headfirst into Supernatrual...especially since SEASON 5 CAME OUT ON DVD TODAY! *dies of happiness*

ps. please don't kill me cuz i chopped his wings off T_T it was about the most heart wrenching thing i ever imagined...

**Please Review!** I shall love you forevers!


	3. Stitches

**Title**: The Darker Side of Me

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: PG-13 for ANGST!

**Spoilers**: up to episode 5.18

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the CW

**A/N**: So this story is going to kind of an alternate universe that takes place immediately after episodes 5.18 (The Point of No Return) which was like my favorite episode ever! So anyway, I wanted to expand on it and the story just kind of came to life in my mind.

So an old friend appears in this chapter (cuz he's not dead yet! lol) I hope everyone enjoys! Um...it might be a bit emo again...maybe :) And I apologize for any OOCness.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Summer move forward and stitch me the fabric of fall_

_Wrap life in the brilliance of death to humble us all_

_How sweet is the day, I'm craving the darkness_

_As I sit tucked away with my back to the wall_

_And the taste of dried up hopes in my mouth_

_And the landscape of merry and desperate drought_

_How much longer dear angels_

_Let winterlight come_

_And spread your white sheets over my empty house_

-Vienna Teng-

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Dean glanced down at his watch once more, oddly enough checking not the time, but the date. He could honestly care less about the time. He was about at his wits end. It had been four days since they had found Castiel in the warehouse, and still the angel had not woken.

After stealing the largest van they could find, Sam and Dean had sped to Bobby's, stopping only for water, bandages, and gas. Dean had done all of the driving while Sam had done his best to patch up Cas. Even during the stitching the angel hadn't made a sound.

They had reached Bobby's in less than two days time, and when the old hunter ran out to the van barking questions at him, Dean had merely stared. All he could hear was the sound of Castiel's screams, still playing off the tin walls of the warehouse and vibrating through his very soul. Something in him had been broken by that scream—something that had tied him to the angel had been split somehow. He hadn't realized what it had meant to him until he'd been stripped of it. It was as if he were hollow again; empty in a way he'd never imagined.

He had watched Sam and Bobby carry Castiel into the house with a sort of mute detachment, and upon finding he didn't know what else to do, began cleaning out the back of the van. The back bed of carpet was completely saturated with blood. There were piles of rags and used bandages piled high on either side, dark and putrid in the heat. It looked too real, and too human.

Fighting the bile that had surged up his throat, Dean slammed the back doors of the van shut and left it sitting, abandoned in the junkyard. Not knowing what else to do, he had gone inside to help. He remembered Sam and Bobby looking at him as he entered. They hovered over the angel, who had been lying on his stomach so that the horrific bloodied stubs that had once been his wings lay fully exposed to the midmorning air. His breathing was harsh, uneven, and ragged. Oh yes, Dean remembered it so well…

"I'm going to have to call a surgeon," Bobby grunted, reaching into his pocket for his cell and stomping out of the room.

Even from a distance Dean could see the tiny tufts of down stuck wetly to Castiel's skin. They seemed to move, though the air around them was quite still.

"Dean?" His younger brother stepped towards him, "Are you alright?"

"How bad is he Sammy?" Dean asked in a baited whisper, unable to look away from the angel and the white bones that jutted so grotesquely from his shoulder blades.

Sam sighed deeply, "It's bad Dean."

Dean's eyes grazed over the crude stitching that was his brother's handiwork. Already the seams of skin were beginning to split, as if the flesh refused to be held together. It made his stomach churn. Over the years, the hunter had seen more than his fair share of macabre gore, but nothing he'd seen before could've possibly prepared him for the broken plagued body that lay before him. Strange gashes curled across the planes of Castiel's body, ugly and black like they had been scorched into his skin. They twisted and turned as if they were meant to form some sort of pattern—like the person who carved them had meant them to be beautiful. Blood still slithered slowly from the wounds, dark and glimmering, though Dean well knew Sam had compressed the wounds. Why hadn't the bleeding stopped?

"Dean?" Sam moved towards him once more, "You're scaring me man."

But his voice sounded very far away. Something in Dean's mind couldn't quite grasp it. Cas was immortal—he was an _angel_. How could he be there, lying so broken and so still? But Dean knew…deep down he _knew_. It was because of him—because as he had fallen, he couldn't help but drag the angel down with him. Because he had been selfish and tired of it all, and because whenever Cas was around, Dean had always felt something stir deep within him. He'd denied it for so long, but in the end it was useless. The angel had made him feel light and alive.

That feeling was gone now. It had vanished the second Sam had brought down that axe.

"Dean?"

And it was his fault. All. His. Fault.

Bobby re-entered the room, the wooden floor complaining under the weight of his boots. He looked between the boys, his breathing shallow and anxious, "Paul said he'd be here within the hour."

There was a beat of silence where no one moved.

"Who's Paul?" Sam asked.

"A hunter. But he also happens to be the best patch up surgeon I know."

"We'll see," Dean muttered hotly.

Bobby's blue eyes narrowed, "What was that?"

Dean tore his gaze from the bed to look at the old hunter, wanting to feel angry at someone other than himself yet unable to muster the malice, "I said, we'll see if he's the best."

"I don't like your tone boy," Bobby growled.

"Well it's Cas that's on the slab here, not me."

"And I don't see you doing anything about it!" Bobby's temper flared and Dean saw his eyes flash an unspoken warning, "Now, Paul's the best we got, but if you think you can do things better then by all means!"

Dean turned away, his brow knitted and his expression brooding. He could feel Bobby and Sam's stares hard on his back, but he didn't care. There was something ugly and black coiling in his chest. It bared its fangs and the hunter couldn't help the cold anger that shot through him like a bullet.

It was Sam who spoke first, "Dean, Bobby just meant that—"

"I'm gonna go make some calls," Dean barley contained his growl as he stormed out of the room.

That had been nearly two days ago.

Paul had come and gone without much notice, and Bobby had been right: he was good. Castiel's wounds were now neatly stitched and his right arm was laden with small tubes, hooked to various fluids on a rack. Already his cheeks had regained some of their previous color and his breathing had grown slow and easy.

But good wasn't enough for Dean.

Even though the angel's body was slowly becoming whole, there was still something desperately broken about him. Sam had told him he was just imagining things, but Dean could feel it, like a heavy veil on the air, and it made the hunter's heart contract violently with a dark feeling.

Though Castiel's cheeks were now full of color, a haunted shadow still creased his brow. It was as if he was in a constant nightmare to which Dean was the only one privy to the effect. Sometimes it was a cold chill down his spine, and other times it was an acidic breath on the back of his neck. And always he saw eyes, as colorless and frozen as ice. Dean wondered what the angel dreamed…or if he even dreamed at all.

There was a soft knock on the doorframe. Dean knew without turning that Sam was behind him.

The younger crossed the room and took a seat in the empty chair next to Dean.

"I brought you something to eat."

Dean glanced over at the sandwich Sam was holding with a curled lip, "I'm not hungry."

"Dean, you haven't eaten in days."

"Yeah?" Dean's tone was biting—he'd been less than short-tempered over the past couple of days, "Well maybe there's just nothing good to eat here."

Sam sighed, knowing very well that there would be no breaking Dean's stubborn mood, yet unwilling to relent, "You should at least get some sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"You look tired."

Dean turned, his glare hard like daggers, "What, is this a beauty contest now?"

Grimacing, Sam placed the uneaten sandwich on the side table. His eyes flickered over Castiel's mangled body before he looked back at his brother, his jaw tense. "Dean, not eating and not sleeping aren't going to help Cas get better."

"Yeah well it won't hurt him any either," Dean glowered.

"Why're you so upset?"

"I would think that much is obvious."

"…It's not."

Dean flared, "Because Cas is dying Sam! Can't you see that?"

Sam's eyes went wide and he looked back at the angel with a paled horror. "Dying? But Paul said—"

"Yeah well screw Paul! How can you not see it Sam?"

Cas lay before them on the bed breathing deep even breaths, and to all the world he could seem well, but not to Dean. All he could see was the vulnerability; the slight tremble of his lower lip, the broken shivers that vibrated through his muscles. The angel's body had somehow survived the trauma, but his mind and his will had not. Something had happened to Cas in Brooklyn, and it was cutting him deeper than any knife ever could. Dean knew that much, though he didn't know how he knew. Whatever had happened to Castiel in that warehouse was killing him now.

"Is he really dying?" Sam asked softly, as if he were afraid that Cas might hear him.

"Yeah…he is."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

"I really thought that—isn't there anything we can do? I can get Bobby to call Paul again. Maybe—"

"It wouldn't help," Dean interrupted, tired and not wanting to realize it.

Sam bit his lip, his brow tight and brooding, "But…there must be something."

"There isn't."

"Dean…"

Dean wasn't looking at him anymore. He couldn't, "Just leave Sammy."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

That night found Dean still sitting in the same chair, hovering over Cas' bed like a ghost over a grave. The moonlight poured in heavily through the window, giving the angel's silhouette an eerie silver glow and covering the room with a white chill. Dean's fingers were interlocked and pressed firmly against his lips as his eyes watched, steady and unmoving. His elbows were digging painfully into his thighs and his feet had long ago grown accustomed to the light tingling of poor circulation. There were no thoughts that plagued his mind now, just a vague darkness—acute in its pain, yet unfathomable in its cause.

"Cas," the word fell off his tongue like a foreign thing. It sounded strange to him now—hollow and empty. But the silence was worse.

The angel breathed in and back out again.

"Cas, what are you doing?"

No answer.

Dean leaned forward, ignoring his protesting muscles, "You think you can just keep laying there like that forever? You think you can just…give up?"

The air seemed dead with stillness.

"Cas I'm begging you," the hunter couldn't mask the quiver in his voice, "don't do this. You can't just give up, not now. It's all gone to shit Cas and I don't know what to do. You were right not to have faith in me…I can't do this. And without you Cas…without you…"

There was the sudden sound of fluttering feathers accompanied by a sharp gust of wind.

Dean didn't turn. He already knew who it was.

"Took you long enough, Gabriel."

If the angel heard him, he didn't bother to respond. Gabriel approached the bed, and Dean couldn't help but note that the old floorboards didn't make a single sound as he walked. He came to a stop at Dean's side, looking uncharacteristically grave. He didn't look like a Trickster anymore.

The angel's eyes scoured Castiel's body and grew dark, "When did this happen?"

"A couple days ago. Michael and Zachariah set a trap, and…" Dean trailed off, hoping he wouldn't have to explain any further.

Gabriel hummed, "I've heard that you killed Zachariah."

The hunter nodded timidly.

"Good riddance. Someone should've killed that good for nothing bastard ages ago. Hell, I should've done it myself."

"Then why didn't you?" Dean snorted.

The corners of Gabriel's mouth pulled down into a scowl, "I guess I'm a coward in more ways than one."

Dean heaved a heavy sigh and felt his body sag. They sat in stiff silence for a long moment.

"Can you help him?" Dean asked finally.

"I don't know," Gabriel leaned forward, gliding the tips of his fingers over Castiel's tepid brow. From some reason the action caused the hunter's muscles to seize, poised and ready to spring. He didn't know why, but he didn't like Gabriel touching him.

"These wounds were all carved with a seraph blade." Gabriel withdrew his hands and Dean released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, "They hold a power that I alone cannot break. Since they were engraved into his body, they've essentially become a part of him. No demon could've done this…"

A cold fury stabbed sharply at Dean's heart, "So it was an angel who did this to him then? An angel _tortured_ Cas?"

"Had you hoped it was a demon?"

"A demon would've been easier for him to understand."

The Trickster sighed, "Now you understand why I left."

Another long silence passed, filled only with the sound of Castiel's soft breaths.

"His wings are gone."

Dean stiffened once more, "Yeah." A picture of the old rusted axe gripped tightly in Sam's hands flashed painfully through his mind. There were still bloodstains on his clothes and hands.

Gabriel's jaw tensed for but a moment before his mouth curled into a rueful smile, "If I wake him, I don't know what will happen."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," said the angel, "that a very powerful and very deep magic has been carved into him, and without his wings—well—Castiel is very nearly human. Those runes could tear him apart from the inside out. That's why he's like this now. His lack of consciousness protects him from it."

Dean stood, his pulse steadily accelerating, "Then take the damn marks off."

Gabriel looked at him for the first time that evening, and Dean could see his unmasked helplessness shining clearly in the moonlight, "I've already told you that I can't."

Dean's eyes flickered between the angels. His pounding heart had caused a tightness to swell in his chest and he knew at once he was angry again, "Are you or are you not an archangel?"

Gabriel's expression faltered, "No, for your information I'm not. Not anymore."

"Well it seems to me you've got plenty of angel juice left! How about instead of using it to mess with us, you get over your damn daddy complex and do something useful!" Dean was shaking now, so much so that the room seemed very still around him.

"You should let him go Dean."

Everything suddenly stopped, as if the moment had been jerked out of time.

"What?"

Gabriel looked at him with hard brown eyes, "You heard me."

Dean blinked, "Are you saying—are you saying that I should let Cas die?"

**_xXxXxXx_**

So um...I'm sorry that was a bit short. But I kinda wanted to end it on a cliffhanger to encourage people to **REVIEW! ** :D I know not much happened but no worries...next chapter should be a doozie!


	4. The Deal

**Title**: The Darker Side of Me

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: PG-13 for ANGST!

**Spoilers**: up to episode 5.18

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the CW

**A/N**: So this story is going to kind of an alternate universe that takes place immediately after episodes 5.18 (The Point of No Return) which was like my favorite episode ever! So anyway, I wanted to expand on it and the story just kind of came to life in my mind.

Sorry for the ghastly long wait! School has just overwhelmed me lately...and with all of the tests coming up soon (followed shortly by finals) I probably won't be able to update again before winter break. Or maybe a muse will visit me over the Thanksgiving holidays? That would be nice...

P.S. This chapter is intentionally written in a semi-choppy style. It sort of fits in my opinion...hope everyone else agrees!

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_When the sea falls from the shore  
As the light sinks low, will I see you any more?  
As the rain falls from the sky  
Can I bring you back, from a distant lullaby?_

_Show me your vision, the story begun_

_Two lights are rising and burning as one_

_And the cold, cold wind, it blows me away_

_The feeling all over is a black, black day  
But I know that I'll see you again  
And I know that you're near me  
_

-Hayley Westenra-

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

"I'm saying," Gabriel's voice was firm and unforgiving, "that you don't know what you're bringing him in to! Think of all he's sacrificed for you—all he's been through—and you want to bring him back just so _you_ can feel better? You're being selfish!"

Dean didn't know why, but those words struck him somehow, like picking at an old forgotten wound. He looked down at Castiel—at the closed eyelids that concealed a color he knew by heart. He thought he'd understood all the angel had sacrificed for him, but as he stood here now, he suddenly felt he'd never even grasped the beginnings of it. Cas had given him everything and more, and what had he ever offered in return—he or anyone else? It wasn't right.

"Is there any way I can just…talk to him?" the hunter asked in a raspy whisper, "Just for a minute?"

Gabriel's brown eyes narrowed, "Why?"

"Because," Dean looked at the Trickster, his shoulders slackened in defeat, "I don't know—I just need to. I need to know what he wants me to do. He has the right to decide his own fate, doesn't he? I may not know what he wants, but either do you."

The light of the moon was muted with shadow, and the night air hung still around them. The darkness seemed to list, as if waiting for something to move it—a breath, a sound, a word.

"There is," the angel seemed to hesitate, "one thing I can do." Gabriel gazed down at Castiel, his brows knitted in thought and his jaw set tight in resignation.

Dean waited expectantly. The silence was stifling and complete. He gave a little cough; if only to break it, "Care to elaborate on that?"

Gabriel's eyes, which had gone hazy in their stare, suddenly sharpened once more. He looked at Dean and the hunter swore he could feel the soft crackling of magic stir the still room. "I can send you into his subconscious."

Dean's brows shot up, "Come again?"

"What, like you haven't done weirder crap?" The angel chided, "This is the only chance I'm giving you on this. If you want to ask him, this is the way."

"But…" Dean struggled, "What will I see?" For some reason, the idea of going into Cas' mind seemed wrong. He remembered all too well his experience with the African Dream Root—how violated he felt to have other people see the things he had dared to call his own. It was breaking a barrier of privacy he had no right to break.

"Going once."

The hunter's heart sprang up in his throat, "Now wait just a minute, Chuckles—"

"Going twice."

"You can't just spring something like this on me and expect me to—"

"Going—"

"Fine!" Dean roared, his nerves buzzing like electricity under his skin. He shouldn't have yelled—it was sure to have woken Bobby, and probably Sam too. They would be running in here any second, and he knew they would try to stop them. He was being reckless, he knew, but…he couldn't just sit here and watch Cas die. He _wouldn't_. "Send me in."

Gabriel's lips stretched into a smirk as he raised two fingers to Dean's forehead, "I'll give you ten minutes."

Dean nodded.

"Find him, Dean," Gabriel's eyes were sharp, but the hunter didn't miss the flicker of earnestness that whispered across his gaze. Then there was a flash of white light, a sharp pull in his chest, and everything went black.

Dean didn't realize he was falling until his feet slammed into the ground. His knees buckled and with a yell he was pitched forward. His hands and knees hit gravel, the skin on his palms tearing as they scraped over the rough surface. Dean released a sharp breath, opened his eyes, and immediately noticed something strange. The hunter lifted a hand and turned it over. There was no blood. Blinking, Dean sat back on his heels and inspected his other hand. The skin was perfectly smooth—more so in fact than he remembered it ever being. There were no blisters, no scrapes, and the scar he had gotten on a hunting trip with his dad two days before his fifteenth birthday was inexplicably missing.

"Well that's definitely not normal." It was only when he spoke that he realized the stark quiet that surrounded him. Frowning, Dean pushed himself to his feet and gazed around. He was standing in the middle of a deserted small town street. The sun shone brightly overhead, illuminating the red brick of the surrounding buildings and setting the autumn leaves into playful shades of fire. But he heard not the sound of a bird, nor the whistle of the wind as it brushed through the trees. It was silent, still, and dead. Yet…there was something familiar about this place. He'd been here before.

He started to walk, though towards what he didn't know. "Cas?" he called, only to have his voice swallowed by the empty sky. He began to walk faster.

"Cas!" he thundered.

_Dean_?

Dean stopped abruptly and turned, his shoulder suddenly humming with feeling. "Cas?" he ventured again.

_Dean._

The hunter broke out into a flat out run, his legs pumping so fast he barely felt them touch ground. He'd never run so fast in his life—it was like he was flying. His chest wasn't tight and his whole body felt weightless and free. He felt like he could run forever.

_Dean_.

He turned a corner and stopped. The park. He _had_ been here before. But why—he gazed up at the sky and the muted grey sun. Dark clouds loomed forebodingly and all around there was…snow. Dean's eyes dropped to scour the park. That was when he saw him, sitting hunched on a bench, still as stone.

"Cas," Dean breathed, and as he stepped into the first layers of snow, the cold lashed out at him, nipping at his skin with icy jaws. With a small cry of surprise Dean leapt back, "What the hell?"

_Dean._

The hunter's throat tightened with an unnamed emotion. He could do this. He had to. If Cas could fly through hell, he could handle a little cold.

Dean stepped forward once more, wincing as the ice tore through him, but he braced himself against it. With each movement his body screamed for him to turn back. But Dean had always been stubborn. If anyone ever told him he couldn't do something, it was his habit to do it simply out of spite. But more than that, he _couldn't_ turn back. Cas was calling him.

_Dean._

Snow whirled in heavy sheets of white, with a cold so absolute Dean could feel it inside of him. The ice sliced through his nerves like razors, shearing him slowly, as if he were being shredded. His feet were heavy now, and he could feel the freezing trickle of blood slithering down his chin.

It wasn't much farther now. If only the angel would turn around…

_Dean._

His eyes burned. Every breath he took was like swallowing cold fire. His body sang in agony, every inch of him ripped open with ice.

He was so close.

_Dean._

"Cas!" his voice was a hollow choked breath, "Turn around dammit!"

Then, everything went still.

Dean fell to his knees with a muffled cry, his eyes falling shut and his body shivering violently.

Suddenly, there were warm hands cupping his face, and in a moment he was filled with such a total and complete warmth he couldn't help but gasp. Life fluttered over him, dancing across his skin and making his body quiver with relief.

He blinked his eyes open and looked up. "Cas," he breathed.

Wide eyes, bluer than any sky, stared down at him, "Dean…what are you doing here?"

But Dean couldn't bring himself to answer: he was transfixed. Castiel's very skin seemed to glow, like light was trapped just beneath. His complexion held no burden of sorrow or line of pain, such that his face was unfathomably perfect and breathtakingly beautiful. The tips of his dark hair were dusted with a shimmering gold and his clothing—now all white—seemed to sparkle like glitter in the revived sun. He still looked like Cas, but…uncontained somehow. He actually looked…like an _angel._

"Dean?"

The sound of Cas' voice shook him, and all at once everything seemed to crash in. He pushed himself to his feet, grabbing the angel's wrists tightly and pulling them down, "Cas, we don't have much time."

Castiel nodded slowly, "Gabriel sent you then?"

Dean frowned, still holding Castiel's wrists, "How did you know?"

"I can still feel the outside world," the angel replied, sounding grave.

"So you," Dean's pulse quickened, "remember everything that happened?"

"Yes." Castiel was looking at him with that same somber unblinking stare that always found its way underneath his skin. "I remember the angel and how he marked me. I wish I didn't remember, believe me. It's the only thing that plagues me here. Everything after though—you and Sam finding me—is all fragmented. There are bits here and there, but nothing solid."

A hard lump grew in Dean's throat. So did that mean he didn't remember Sam—but no it didn't matter, not right now. "So those marks he gave you—"

"They're curses." The world around them seemed to tremble with feeling, and a sharp chill ghosted through the air.

"Then you must know how to get rid of them. There must be a spell or some sort of angel voodoo that can—"

"There isn't," Castiel's voice was cold and hard as the ice that surrounded them. "Curses can only be broken by following the rules they're made under. If I wake up, then I am bound by them."

Dean's grip on the angel's wrists tightened, "What do you mean _if_, Cas?"

Castiel pulled away and stepped back, and the sun overhead flickered like a light bulb. Castiel glanced up at it, his blue eyes alight with longing, "I cannot fly anymore."

The statement hung stagnant in the air. Dean's mouth went dry and his chest tightened in against his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. He felt wretched and nauseous, like someone had reached inside of him and was twisting his stomach into knots.

"I knew—I knew the moment my brother asked me to show him my wings that he would take them. I knew…" Castiel's voice fell off in a whisper. He was still staring up at the sky.

Dean swallowed against the bile surging up his throat. He didn't have _time_…

"Tell me what I can do. There must be something."

With knitted brows, Castiel looked at him and then at the ground. But it was enough—Dean had seen it. There _was_ something.

"Tell me, Cas."

The angel looked at him again, his gaze guilty and broken, "There is nothing."

"That's bullshit and you know it!"

"I will not ask it of you!" The wind roared around them and thunder shook the air. Castiel's shoulders were set and his mouth was pressed in a firm line, but still his face was unmarred by any kind of ugliness. Here at least, he could remain the reflection of the angel he once was.

It would be easier for Cas never to wake up, Dean knew. But…

"Cas…" Dean closed the space between them once again, "let me help you. I can't leave you here…not like this. Not when it's my fault."

Surprise flashed in the angel's eyes, "Why would you think any of this is your fault?"

"You went into that warehouse not planning to come back out, Cas! You said why! And—by God—I helped you because I thought you were right! Now look where you are, and tell me it's not my fault!"

Castiel looked straight at him, and Dean's nerves began to twitter with feeling. Dean could see his whole life in those eyes—devotion and faith in a world that gave no reason for it.

"It was not your fault. The decision was my own."

"Cas," Dean huffed, "tell me how I can help you."

"I will not."

"I'm not giving you a choice!"

"I cannot, Dean!" Cas' expression seemed to crumple with grief, "I cannot force this upon you! I have done my duty. I rescued you from Hell and I have protected you in every way I know how—"

"Well the job isn't done yet!" They were both breathing heavily, their chests rising and falling in unified passion. "Sam and I still need you, Cas."

Castiel's eyes narrowed and the sky darkened, "Oh, you two need me now? To do what? To kill more of my brothers? To save you every time you try to throw yourself back into the pit?"

"I didn't say yes to Michael if you hadn't noticed." Dean growled.

"But for how long?" Castiel's eyes flashed like lightning, and the mark on Dean's shoulder began to blaze like fire. "Do you even know what it's like—to watch the only person you have ever given everything to just throw it all away?"

Dean's heart contracted violently, "Yes…I do."

The angel's eyes widened in realization. It had begun to drizzle, and water was now raining down in cool misting sheets. Castiel's skin and hair began to glisten like glass, and thin streaks of rain fell down his face like tears. There was a raw, naked pain reflected in his eyes, "Forgive me…I had forgotten…" the words "about Sam" were left hanging between them—words that were unspoken, yet understood.

"Cas, let me help you." All the anxiety Dean had felt mere seconds ago seemed to melt away into a weighted sorrow. It had fought its way up to the surface and he hadn't the strength to push it back down. He'd betrayed Sam, he'd betrayed Cas…and he'd betrayed himself. But damn-it-all, he was trying to set things straight.

Castiel swallowed, looking hesitant, "Dean…you do not know what you ask."

"Yeah, well I've never exactly been the cautious type."

"No, you don't understand." The angel's throat tensed, "If you do this…you will have to share my curse."

The silence was deafening.

Castiel's eyes searched him desperately, "The only way to break an Enochian curse is to abide by its parameters, and the only way my vessel will survive the curses in its current state would be to split the burden."

Dean's heart was racing and he didn't know why. What had he expected? To escape this unscathed? It didn't matter what had thought—not if it meant getting Castiel to come back with him. Whatever this curse was, he could handle it. It wasn't like he didn't deserve it anyway. So bring it on.

"I know what you're thinking," the angel said in his usual gruff voice.

Dean nearly smirked, "What's that?"

"You're going to do something stupid as usual. Dean—"

Dean held up a hand, "You said this curse can be broken right?" Castiel nodded. "Well then, let's do this."

Castiel shook his head, "Even if you share my burden, this curse could still kill the both of us."

"Does it look like I care?" Dean retorted.

"You are just being reckless and stubborn. If you would stop and think—"

"My mind is made up about this, Cas."

"But, Dean—"

"Cas!" The finality in Dean's tone quelled the angel's tongue. The hunter cleared his throat and blinked the rain from his eyes. "Alright, so let's get to it then. Wave your hand or snap your fingers, or whatever else it is you angels do."

Castiel's eyes immediately fell to the ground. He stood very still, wringing his hands together.

After a short moment, Dean frowned, "What is it?"

"If you insist on doing this it means we…" Castiel's cheeks were highlighted with a bright red, "…we are making a deal."

"A deal?" The words felt dry and sticky in his mouth. Then, a foreboding realization fell over him. Dean shifted uncomfortably, "So…that means we have to…"

"Where do you think the demons got the idea from?" Castiel was still wringing his hands, and his knuckles had gone white.

"Right. Of course." As if Dean's heart wasn't going through enough trauma. With a deep, yet not so calming sigh, he braced himself. "Alright, lay one on me then, so we can get out of here. But I swear to God, Cas, if you tell a single soul about this I'll choke you with your own tie, got that?"

"You don't have to do this. You shouldn't do it."

"Yeah, well that's too bad 'cause I'm not about to let you die."

Castiel's eyes glistened as they rose to meet his own, "Dean."

Dean's throat tightened at the angel's look, but he tried his best to ignore it. "Come on, Cas, just do it."

With a small shiver of resignation, Castiel stepped forward. Dean could feel the sharp chill of water running down the back of his neck and slipping under his collar to trace the curve of his spine. His eyes were locked with Castiel's and heat seemed to envelope him like a blanket. He couldn't move. There was something bubbling in his stomach, causing his blood to fizz beneath his skin.

"Forgive me…I've never done this before," Cas' mouth moved slowly, and when they parted Dean could see the wetness of his tongue glide along his lips. He didn't know why he would be noticing something like that, but all the same, he was. Every part of him seemed hyperaware—all of his senses open and honed in on the angel. He could tell that Castiel's breathing was faster than normal, and that he was trying to hide the fact that he was trembling, and that he kept stretching and clenching his right hand.

Castiel raised himself up, and as their lips met, Dean felt himself go stiff. The world around him began to spin so he closed his eyes against it; but even still everything seemed to move beneath him. Magic shot through his veins like tendrils of electricity, snapping him with sharp jolts that made his muscles twitch. And there was the taste of rain and the wind above the clouds. It was a moment where, suddenly, everything seemed to burst open. Emotions ignited like matches, and the burn on his shoulder seared with pain. He could feel it all, tearing through him so fast there was nothing left to put him back together again. His soul sang with a hauntingly familiar ache he had told himself he'd forgotten. In a moment, everything in him was ripped apart. In a moment, Cas put him back together again. A soft, tender, and warm light caressed him, delving deep into the chasms of his agony and mending the rips in his soul. He remembered this feeling…he'd felt it before…once.

Dean couldn't help but sigh as they separated. He kept his eyes closed, holding on to the soft flutterings that soothed his soul.

"Dean?"

Dean jumped at the sound of Gabriel's voice.

He blinked and stared around confusedly. He was back in Bobby's house, standing beside Castiel's bed. Sam was there now too, and Dean wanted to shrink under his younger brother's stare. His body ached all over.

Gabriel's eyes were hard and cold, "Did you find him?"

"Dean, what's going on?" Sam's voice sounded very far away.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, I did."

The corners of Gabriel's mouth lifted and his eyes softened. After a lingering moment he turned to Castiel, and for some reason it sent an odd chill crawling down Dean's spine. The angel hummed thoughtfully, "I thought you would."

Then, in a blink, he was gone.

Silence hung over the room, but Dean hardly noticed it. His heart was beating furiously in his chest, but his limbs felt heavy—almost detached from him somehow. Or perhaps it was just the pounding in the back of his head.

Sam was beside him in an instant, "Dean, what the hell is going on? What was Gabriel doing here, and what—"

His words fell with the sound of rustling sheets. The brothers turned in unison to see Castiel pushing himself up, his eyes blinking dazedly.

"Cas…" Sam breathed at Dean's side.

Castiel looked up and his eyes locked with Dean's. The elder Winchester felt an unfamiliar rush that sent his stomach flying up into his throat, like he was freefalling in a sky with no ground.

"Dean."

Dean swallowed thickly, "Welcome back, Cas."

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OMG FIRST KISS! Lol...kind of X3 Anyway...I know that chapter was probably a bit random...and perhaps a bit confusing? But I think everyone will like the direction I'm going in...if I can get myself there! Hope everyone is enjoying season 6! :D

**Reviews are always read and always appreciated! **Plus they help me write more...*hint hint*


	5. A New Kind of Fire

**Title**: The Darker Side of Me

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: PG-13 for ANGST!

**Spoilers**: up to episode 5.18

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the CW

**A/N**: So this story is going to kind of an alternate universe that takes place immediately after episodes 5.18 (The Point of No Return) which was like my favorite episode ever! So anyway, I wanted to expand on it and the story just kind of came to life in my mind.

Hey remember me! I'm the horrible author who starts stories and never finishes them DX Buuuuut I finally updated so yay! This chapter was with my beta for a long time...but I think her computer died so it sat in limbo for a long time. So I hope she won't mind me posting it? *hopeful face* I just hope everyone still remembers what's going on...

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Castiel stared up at the elder Winchester, his thoughts calculating. He was awake. So that meant…it had worked? The angel blinked and turned his gaze down to his torso. His chest, abdomen, and arms were marred with wounds made all the more vivid by the black stitching that held his skin together. It hurt, but not as badly as he had expected. He had expected torture—excruciating pain beyond compare. This was just…normal.

But then that meant…the curse wasn't going to be as simple as he originally hoped.

He saw the Enochian words that marked his skin, but he didn't read them. He didn't want to. Not yet.

"Uh, Dean," the sound of Sam's voice brought Castiel's gaze back to the brothers, "what happened to your arms?"

Dean looked down at his arms skeptically; stretching and turning them so as to better view the inflamed red markings that now covered his skin. The elder Winchester grimaced and shrugged, "Carpet burn by the looks of it—nasty stuff."

"Dean," Sam growled warningly.

Dean sighed and looked down at Castiel. A sudden shock raced down the angel's spine, and left in its wake an uncomfortable buzzing in his chest that seemed to resonate through Dean's dark hazel eyes. They held each other's gazes for but a moment before they both finally had to look away.

Castiel could feel Sam looking at him expectantly, but the angel simply clasped his hands and remained still.

The elder Winchester grunted, "Hey, Sam, do you think you could leave Cas and I alone for a bit?"

"What for?"

"Sam, I'll fill you in later I promise, but…we _really_ need a minute."

Castiel could sense the anger that scourged through Sam's veins. He could feel the way the younger Winchester's shoulders tensed, and how the feeling of betrayal twisted into something ugly that was only visible in the brief flash of darkness that whispered across Sam's eyes. The reaction was a sharp jab in the angel's mind, but he ignored it as he usually did—for Dean's sake.

Without another word Sam turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him so hard that a cloud of dust plumed in his wake. Castiel and Dean both stared after him, a deep frown etched on their faces.

Dean was the first to turn back.

"So," he began slowly, "I guess we should get down to it then."

Castiel looked up at him, and briefly wondered why Dean shifted as he did so. "I suppose we should." The angel turned his attention back to the markings on his torso, and felt a sudden chill as they seemed to glare up at him. His brow furrowed as his eyes scanned over the angelic words.

Castiel frowned.

"What is it?" Dean's voice was lined with dread.

Castiel didn't move. This didn't make sense…unless, "Remove your shirt, Dean."

There was a beat of silence, "Dare I ask…_why_?"

"Just do it."

Dean flashed him an impish white grin, "Liked the kiss that much did you?"

Castiel barely had time to register his reaction before a wave of hot blood was flooding his cheeks. "Dean," he glowered, trying his best to push the strange emotion down.

After a not so subtle eye roll, Dean's hands moved to the hem of his shirt. He pulled the fabric up, his taught muscles rippling live waves under his skin as he moved. Castiel stared, knowing even before he read the words engraved into Dean's once smooth skin that something was different between them—that this curse had them bound by something greater than the words that marked them. He could _feel_ it. He had always been able to feel Dean deeper than other humans, but never like this. It was as if he could feel every movement that the hunter made as an extension of himself. He could feel the rough heat of Dean's skin tingle the tips of his fingers. He could feel the flush of blood that warmed his cheeks and neck. And he could feel his heart skip as their eyes once again met.

And somehow, he knew Dean could feel him too.

Dean threw his shirt to the ground, his eyes narrowed and hard, "What's going on, Cas?"

Castiel's jaw clenched, "The seven vices and virtues."

The angel felt Dean's pulse quicken.

"Come again?"

But Castiel wasn't listening anymore. His mind was racing—everything was falling into place all at once.

It was the only way, "He had to have known."

"Who had to have known what?" Dean's trepidation was rapidly turning into anger.

"It's the only reason he would have done it this way."

"Cas?"

"Dean," Castiel swallowed thickly, "you must give me back your half of the curse."

"What?"

"_Now_, Dean!"

"God dammit, Cas, will you just hold your horses for a second and—"

"_There's no time_!" In his excitement the angel had leaned forward. A sharp pain in his ribs caused him to lose balance and in a sudden jerk, his hips slid off the side of the mattress.

There was the briefest feeling of his stomach fluttering in free fall before a pair of warm hands grabbed him. With a startled yell, Dean fell with him to the ground, angling his shoulder to take the brunt of the blow. They lay still for a tangled moment, Dean's body effectively pinned beneath the angel's. Castiel turned his head to see that Dean's face was a mere inches from his own. The air hung still, waiting for the breath neither of them dared to take. Then, Dean's hand—pressed firmly against Castiel's exposed ribcage—moved. It couldn't have moved more than a moment, but that moment was enough to ignite Castiel's skin like a fire to dry wood.

They sprung apart in an instant; Castiel's back ramming into the cold metal of the bed frame and sending a shock of pain down his spine. But it was nothing compared to the crushing pain in his chest. His ribs seemed to be caving in on his lungs—his breath came in quick labored pants that seemed in sync with the erratic beating of his heart. Oh yes…he had definitely known. And now, it was too late.

"Cas," Dean whispered, his eyes alive with confusion and something else too, "what was that?"

Castiel's tongue went suddenly dry. How he ached to stretch out his wings and fly away from here. He could never stand Dean looking at him like that, like he was waiting for him to bear the inevitable darkness—like Castiel was the only thing standing between him and hell. Not the literal hell, but Dean's own hollow of empty darkness that he kept locked somewhere, deep inside; the place he stored all the pain that still lingered through the horrors he'd seen. It was a look he reserved for Castiel and Castiel alone…and the angel hated it. It was like a rusted nail scratching at an open wound in his heart.

"Cas?"

"It was the beginning of our curse. It's started. Whatever hope we had of surviving this has been lost."

Dean blanched, "You mean…we're going to die?"

Castiel looked away, trying to ignore the alien tightness in his throat, "It is certainly probable."

"_No_!" Dean barked, jumping to his feet, "Don't you tell me that shit, Cas! You're holding something out on me! Now, you said something about the seven vices and virtues, so what the hell did that mean?"

The angel saw no point in not telling him, "The surest way to completely destroy an angel's soul is to curse him with the Curse of Seven Vices—you may know the vices as the seven deadly sins. Each sin is in direct opposition of the virtue in an angel's soul, thus as each sin is committed, that part of the soul is destroyed. It destroys us…by making us human." He paused, watching with a strange lack of dispassion as his words made something in Dean quiver. "The Curse of Seven Virtues works the exact same way on humans—their inability to be free of sin drives them mad. Every case I know of has resulted in suicide."

Dean was still breathing heavily, and his eyes were darting haphazardly in thought. "But you…originally had both?"

Castiel nodded, exuding a calmness he didn't feel, "So in other words, had you not taken the burden of half my curse, the spell would have been nullified."

Dean blinked, "So you're telling me that if I hadn't tried to save your life, everything would've been fine? Gabriel could've just woken you up and—and that would've been the end of it?"

"Yes."

The hunter's face flushed a deep red, and he turned his gaze to stare broodingly out the window. Castiel could feel Dean's turmoil coiling in his stomach like snakes.

"So that means," Dean's voice was a hard edge, "that the guy who did this to you, knew we would try to split it. Hell…he probably even knew it would be me who did it."

The angel frowned, "It is likely."

Dean rounded on him, "So what the hell does that mean, Cas? How could he have known that I would try to save you like that?"

Castiel tried his best not to react to Dean's anger, but those hazel eyes burned him. He couldn't help but shrink back slightly, "I don't know. You and your brother have a history of self-sacrifice, but that is only for each other. I don't know why he assumed a trick like that would work with me."

Castiel didn't miss the flash of pain that whispered across Dean's gaze before he looked away once more. The angel grimaced—he'd probably said something wrong again. Though he had no way of knowing what that something was. He honestly _didn't_ know why the angel would've used those curses. Had he simply wanted Castiel dead, there was a plethora of cleaner, and far simpler options—and most of those would've been slower and even more painful. Yet, this angel had taken the risk…to what? To get at Dean? Castiel looked up at the hunter. He stood like cold stone in the middle of the room, the moon reflecting off his tanned skin with an ethereal white glow. The shadows that lined his face were sharp, and his brow was pulled tight by some brooding thought that Castiel would never know. Why _had_ Dean come after him?

Dean sighed heavily, "So…what do we do now?"

"We should tell Bobby and Sam—"

"Not a chance," Dean interrupted tersely.

Castiel stared up at him blankly, the question "Why not?" stuck on the tip of his tongue, belayed only by the seriousness etched into the hunter's features. This point, at least, was not up for debate.

Dean began to pace, playing with his ring distractedly as his eyes moved in thought, "Alright, so if I'm going to be more vulnerable to sin then I should definitely keep away from guns, knives, women, and all forms of emo music. Man…this is already looking hopeless."

Castiel's lips quirked, "What is emo?"

"Never mind," the hunter waved him off, "listen, there has to be a way to break this thing. There's no such thing as a curse that can't be broken."

"I never said it couldn't be broken."

Dean stopped, his gaze whipping Castiel with untamed fury, "Well you sure as hell could've fooled me! You just said not two minutes ago that we're going to die!"

"Yes." The angel could feel Dean's anger like a hot fire in his stomach.

"Dammit, Cas!" Dean started for him, his hands balling into fists, but he stopped midstride. The hunter closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Castiel could see his jaw throbbing as Dean rapidly tensed and relaxed it. Then, suddenly, one of the markings on his stomach began to glow—the soft warm glow of a candle at night.

Dean jumped, his eyes flying open and going big as saucers. "Uh…Cas? Care to explain why I'm turning into a human glow-stick?"

Castiel pushed himself up, his eyes narrowing in thought, "You're using a virtue to combat a vice. You're breaking part of the curse."

"What? Right now!" Dean glanced at Castiel, then back down at his torso, his eyebrows raised. Slowly the glow faded, leaving the scarred skin slightly smoother than before. Dean hummed, "Is it just me or did that seem a bit too easy?"

"It may seem like that now, but the curse will get stronger over time. It will do its best to work against your weaknesses."

"But it—it's _possible_. We can fight this?"

The angel shrugged, "We don't have much of a choice."

"Alright," Dean clapped and rubbed his hands together, his expression brighter than Castiel had seen it all evening, but the angel could feel the undercurrent of disquiet that the hunter's hesitant smile masked. "So, basically, I just need to start acting like you, and you need to start acting like me." Dean raised an eyebrow at him, "Guess we'll have to find you a prostitute who isn't so sensitive this time."

Castiel flushed.

"Actually, scratch that, we'll just find you a deaf one."

"Dean?"

Dean's smile fell almost immediately, "Let me guess…there's something you forgot to mention?"

Castiel felt a surge of guilt wash over him, "Dean…you and I share this curse, and thus, are bound together in its execution."

Castiel very much thought the words spoke for themselves, but judging by the vague expression on the elder Winchester's face, they didn't.

Sighing, the angel looked away, trying to push down the shudder that threatened to take him. "Our vices and virtues…can only be broken if we exact them on each other." Castiel closed his eyes as he felt the thought sink into Dean's mind and finally take hold.

"It would perhaps be possible," Castiel continued, if only to keep the dreadful silence at bay, "if not for one particular vice."

He could hear Dean's swallow, "…Lust."

"My lust and your chastity. Those two are the only pair that requires real direct contact. Anger and patience, sloth and fortitude, those can all be accomplished—"

"Alright! Alright…I get the picture."

Castiel opened his eyes to look at Dean once more. He was tangling his fingers in his hair, and his whole body seemed to be shaking in his effort to keep calm.

"There has to be a way to break this thing, Cas. A way other than…" he couldn't bring himself to finish.

Castiel hummed, trying his best to think of a way to support Dean's delusion, "Perhaps…there could be a counter curse."

Dean nodded absently.

"Maybe, if I still had my wings, I could've—" he was cut off by the startling pang of anguish that raced through Dean. The hunter's mouth was pressed firmly together and his eyes were fixed on the floor. Castiel's chest tightened. He pushed himself up slightly and tried his best to ignore his protesting limbs. "Dean?"

Dean started, his gaze flickering over to Castiel but not quite seeing him. Walking across the room in a couple strides, he gingerly helped the angel back onto the bed. "The doctor said you shouldn't be moving for a while," he muttered, and the angel knew they were both trying to pretend their skin wasn't whispering fire where they touched.

Hazel eyes bored into him, close and dark. Out of Castiel's peripheral, he could see another one of Dean's markings glowing faintly.

It was funny…he didn't remember ever noticing how Dean smelled before, and yet, the scent was so familiar to him.

Dean withdrew his hand, biting his lip. "Well…you should get some rest then."

"Yes," Castiel replied, wanting to shy away from warmth lingering where Dean had touched him, but making himself hold still.

"I'll uh," the hunter took a couple of steps back towards the door, "I'll see you in the morning alright?" He didn't even wait for a response before fleeing out the door.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Holy shit_. Dean fell back against the wall, pressing his face into his hands and desperately trying to ignore the heat that was still racing through him. He didn't know what he had expected when he'd taken half of Castiel's curse, but it certainly wasn't this. This was nuts.

And the way he could feel the angel when he…

Dean shuddered and pushed himself back up. He couldn't deal with this. He felt exhausted and exposed, and right now all he wanted to do was lay down in his bed and dream of nothing. Resolved to belay all thoughts of this curse until morning, Dean made a beeline for his bedroom.

His hopes for how the rest of the evening would transpire, however, were dashed as he found his bedroom door—which he kept closed by habit—open.

Of course, he didn't need two tries to guess who it was.

"Not now, Sam" Dean grumbled as he entered the room. Dutifully ignoring Sam's stiff demeanor, Dean began rummaging through his bag for a clean shirt and some boxers. He pulled out the first pair he found and began changing in silence.

Sam, however, didn't seem to get the point. Dean grimaced—for the brainiac of the family, his younger brother really was rather thick at times.

"Dean, what's going on?"

"Nothing is going on."

"I think I have a _right _to know."

"It's _nothing_." Dean repeated with a huff of annoyance, "Or didn't you hear me the first time around?"

"That's bull and you know it." The anger in Sam's voice was palpable.

Dean, who had been studiously avoiding eye contact, chanced a look at his younger brother and broke it almost immediately. He could never look at Sam when he was like this. This wasn't _his_ Sam anymore. This was a warped version of Sam. This was the Sam who was addicted to demon blood. This was the Sam that Lucifer wanted. Dean couldn't deal with this too…not right now.

"Look, Sammy," Dean rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, "I'll tell you tomorrow, I promise, just…I can't talk about it right now okay? I'm tired as hell, I have a headache like someone's just smacked me over the head with a baseball bat, not to mention—"

"Not to mention you look like you just got into a fight with Bobby's wood-chipper and lost. Ten times over."

Dean looked at him then, too exhausted to fight it anymore.

Sam's jaw was tight as he spoke, "This has something to do with Cas waking up doesn't it."

"Sam—"

"This has something to do with those carvings on his body. They're not normal, are they."

"Stop, Sam—"

But Sam was already riled. There was no stopping him, "You did something, didn't you! Something stupid like you always do, without even telling me! Dean—"

"I said stop it, Sam!" Dean snapped, feeling an unbidden hot fury swell in his chest. It was just like what he had felt with Cas, only this time, he couldn't push it back down. "Of course if has something to do with Cas, and _of course_ I did something about it! What did you expect me to do, Sammy? Sit idly by and just watch him die!" He felt winded, like his lungs were being squeezed tight, "Well!"

Sam's jaw was clenched tighter than ever, "You should've at least _said_ something to me about it!"

Dean glared up at his younger brother, "I saw an opportunity to do something so I took it! And I'm sorry if your damned feelings got hurt in the process, but angry at me or not _I'm_ the reason he's awake right now! And that's all you have to know about it."

"Well that's awfully hypocritical of you," Sam returned with a snarl, "You think you have the right to know everything that I'm doing and yet you get to run off and—"

"I'm not the one who can't be trusted here, Sam!"

Sam's anger flickered in an instance of pain, and Dean saw it…but he couldn't stop. Something had taken hold—something he'd been pressing down so hard for so long, that he felt he might burst if it didn't come out.

"You're the one who betrayed _me_, remember! So don't come crying to me about trust when you're the one who threw it away! You aren't the same anymore Sam, and we both know it!" The words burned his throat like acid, but Dean's tongue wouldn't quell, "You're distracted, and angry, and to be frank I don't know what the hell to do about it anymore! You don't think there's a reason things are different between us! You don't think there's a _reason_ Lucifer wants _you_ as his meatsuit!"

Something in Sam's eyes broke just then, and with it, Dean felt his heart go cold. He swallowed dryly as the silence seemed to press in. What had just happened? What had he just done?

He searched for words, groping for anything that could mend the wound he'd just ripped open, "Look, Sammy, I didn't mean it…I'm sorry. I'm just—"

"Don't, Dean," Sam stopped him with a raised hand, "Just…don't."

There was another heavy silence. Sam wasn't looking at him anymore, but Dean knew his brother well enough to recognize the line of tension that marked his shoulders for what it was. He'd hurt Sam, that much was clear. How much though, he couldn't say. But there was nothing for it. He was sorry he'd said those things, but that didn't make the words any less true. He was sorry for it, but those same words were the ones that plagued his mind every night before he slept and every morning when he woke. When he'd told Cas that everything was falling apart…he hadn't been lying.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly, "I may have made some mistakes before…but at least I've never given up. I never stopped trying." There was a pregnant pause, "I've never wanted to say yes."

There was a moment where Dean's entire body seized—where the dark thing inside him bowed up with a livid snarl. He had deserved the blow, but that didn't make the pain of it any less. Briefly, he wondered how much of his anger stemmed from the curse, but more so…he wondered how much of it didn't.

"Give me until tomorrow, Sam" Dean's voice was as soft and cool as a winter wind, "I'll tell you tomorrow."

Sam stared at him for a long while, searching for something Dean was sure he would never find, before nodding and turning to leave the room. The last moments between them were filled with the sound of creaking hinges and a metal lock settling in the tumbler.

Dean stared at the door, feeling it mock him with its rigid silence. Blowing out a breath of agitation, Dean threw himself back on the bed, trying to overlook his feelings about what had just transpired between him and Sam, while at the same time trying to figure out what the hell he was going to tell him in the morning.

It didn't take Dean long to figure it out. Of course he would do the same thing he always did—blow off the whole situation and hope to God he and Cas could figure this out before Sam or Bobby ever knew better.

He knew it was wrong. He knew Sam could help him with something like this in ways no one else could. He knew…but he couldn't tell him…he couldn't…

_My lust and your chastity. Those two are the only pair that requires real direct contact._

Dean felt his cheeks heat despite himself. He turned, burying his face into his pillow. How could he possibly tell Sam about _that_? It was bad enough knowing he would have to endure it himself—knowing that the longer this curse went on, the worse it would get. As if it wasn't already unbearable! Ignore it though he had tried, just being in the same room as the angel had been—Dean grimaced—distracting. And when they had touched…the fire…

Dean buried his face deeper into the quilted down.

…Made all the worse because he knew Cas could feel it too. He _knew_. Dean had always felt a certain underlying connection with Cas—deny it though he had tried, it was there, and he'd come to terms with it. Whether it was because of Hell or something else, he didn't know…he'd never wanted to think about that part. But whatever connection he had felt with the angel before paled in comparison to what he felt now. It was like walking from a dimmed room out into the blaring sun. Everything Cas felt during their conversation had slammed against Dean's senses like a wave, so hard and fast Dean hadn't a hope of processing it all. Much less filtering between Cas' feelings and his own.

What was he going to do? Dean gave an exasperated sigh. What _in the world_ was he going to do?

Cas said this curse could be broken, so…there had to be a way.

Dean let his mind wander in the silence of the night. Every part of him felt heavy; every limb weighted by this new plague that was draped over him now. The marks that covered his body made his skin tingle with a soft heat. He could trace each one—run along its twists and turns and somehow know its name. If that wasn't freaky he didn't know what was. Humility, patience, temperance, chastity…all of the things he had to be…all of the things he wasn't now.

Was he fooling himself, thinking he could do this? Maybe…but…

Dean raised his head, his thoughts turning like gears. Maybe if they could find the angel that cursed Cas, and capture him like they had Raphael…maybe they could get the curse removed.

That could just work.

Why couldn't it? If they angel knew the spell to cast this thing, why wouldn't he know the counter spell to it?

In the morning he could ask Cas…there had to be a way. There_ had_ to be.

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Angst angst angst...

Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! Supernatural fans really are the best :)


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